Title: The Angel Maker: Altered Scene
By: writteninhaste
Pairing: Morgan/Prentiss
Rating: PG
Summary: An add-on to the scene in The Angel Maker, because I'm a sucker for Morgan/Prentiss interaction.

***

Prentiss walked out of Chloe's house, balancing a box of files in both hands. Her attention was focused on the ground in front of her, in an attempt to prevent a stumble or fall, and so it was not until Morgan spoke that she even realised he was there.

"The sky's so clear here, huh?" She turned her head, and saw Derek leaning against the patio column, eyes fixed on the night sky above. She shifted her gaze, and took a moment to appreciate the sight.

"It's beautiful." She agreed. Slowly, as if to rush them would be to weaken their effect, the words of a poem she had studied in High School, and loved ever since, drifted across her mind.

"The night is only a sort of carbon paper, Blueblack, with the much-poked periods of stars Letting in the light, peephole after peephole - A bonewhite light, like death, behind all things." The words left her lips in a whisper, a quiet hum against the silence of the night, startling her as she had not realised she had spoken aloud.

"I've always liked Plath." Morgan commented, gaze shifting down to accommodate the woman beside him.

"Me too." Prentiss murmured, eyes drifting from star to star contentedly. The pair stood in silence, each taking time to enjoy the solemnity and tranquility offered by the night. For Derek, the sight was a novelty, a sharp contrast to the smog filled airs of Chicago or DC. For Emily the sight brought back memories of childhood - of the rare times her family was all together at the cabin by the lakes. Out of the corner of her eye she could see Derek mouthing the rest of the poem, silently, to himself and in her head she joined the recital. It surprised her that Morgan was fond of poetry, but at the same time knew she should not have been surprised. The man had more nooks and crannies to his personality than a rock face, and she longed to get a hand-hold on each and every one.

So far she knew they both enjoyed Vonnegut and Plath, both took their coffee black with a single sugar if drunk after eight and enjoyed Film Noir. She also knew they did not have the same taste in music. Glancing back down from the sky, Emily wondered idly what else she could learn about Derek Morgan. What would she learn if she asked?

His gaze caught hers, and he raised a single brow in inquest. Smiling slightly, the dark-haired woman shook her head and stared back at the stars. A moment later the smile had slipped from her face to be replaced by a look of horror.

"Oh my God." She breathed.